


Draco Dormiens

by Menya_Savut



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Gen, Light Angst, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4840319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menya_Savut/pseuds/Menya_Savut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco lives in Muggle London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Draco Dormiens

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry if this premise has been done a million times!

The last thing Draco does as a Malfoy is to go to Gringotts and make himself invisible to the Wizarding World.

He considers himself lucky, practically undeservedly so, because after the War he got to go home to Malfoy Manor with both his parents, and life continued on more or less undisturbed, even as the Wizarding World was still reeling from the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The Ministry was being rebuilt both physically and administratively, and the other Death Eaters were being rounded up one by one.

So why were the Malfoys sitting relatively comfortably at home, not needing to answer questions and appear at trials? Why were the three of them not stripped of everything and thrown into Azkaban to rot?

Harry Potter.

It always returned to Harry Potter, Draco muses. He remembers a time when the idea of the boy holding any power would have disgusted him, but Draco Malfoy doesn’t really know what to think anymore. Plus, he has both his parents, which could not be said of the Boy Who Lived.

Harry had given Draco perspective. Harry had given Draco perspective when he very publicly informed Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister of Magic, that Lucius Malfoy did not need to be incarcerated, because he very obviously did not want to follow in the Dark Lord’s footsteps and was essentially cowering behind his money and enchantments at Malfoy Manor.

Harry had given Draco so much perspective, in fact, that he himself had realized this about the man, and began to fear realizing it in himself. So after nearly a year skulking around his parents’ house and trying to figure out what he wanted, he decided to leave.

Mjorluk the goblin finally turned to Draco, pushing a stack of forms toward his side of the desk.

“Right. You are to disappear from the face of the Wizarding World. Draco Malfoy, at least legally, never existed. He has no connection to the Malfoy name whatsoever. He is not recognized as a Wizard by the Ministry of Magic. He has no claim over any holdings of the Malfoys, nor can the Malfoys recognize a claim of his. He has never attended or graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…”

Draco listened with one ear and absentmindedly flipped through the parchments in front of him, watching the name ‘Malfoy’ swim past his vision again and again…

“…House of Goblins at Gringotts bank. With the signature of Draco Malfoy, so mote it be.”

Draco started, and hastily began signing his name at the bottom of each form. Denial of Property, Denial of Name, Denial of Magical Study…On the last parchment, Draco reached for the small knife and slit the tip of his index finger. A drop of blood fell onto the page, and as Mjorluk snapped his fingers, the stack of parchments disappeared.

“You have half an hour to exit the Wizarding World. Use of magic is not necessary or encouraged.”

Draco murmured a thank you and stepped out of Mjorluk’s office. He crossed Gringotts’s main hall and stepped out into Diagon Alley.

Draco pulled his hood over his head and turned toward the Leaky Cauldron, where Mjorluk had informed him was the entrance into Muggle London. Although the alley was relatively empty on a Wednesday morning, Draco minded the other witches and wizards and made sure not to jostle anyone.

He passed Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. Ollivander’s was still closed, although a cheery “Opening Soon!” sign adorned the shop door. Presently, the sign of the Leaky Cauldron loomed above him.

Draco stepped inside. He nodded politely to Tom but did not make eye contact. He passed through the tavern and slipped into the back alleyway. A simple touch of his hand was all it took to make the brick wall fade away, and suddenly he was looking out at a busy shopping centre packed with harried Muggles.

He considers himself lucky, because for the past few tumultuous years he has lived, while the family and friends of these Muggles may have not.

 

Draco kept his wand tucked under his shirt. He’d stowed his cloak away in his messenger bag and all the woman behind the desk can make of him is that he’s a young man signing a lease on his first apartment. He looked down at the thin, bindingly white sheet of paper and signed “Vincent Malfoy” using the ballpoint pen attached to the face of the desk.

“Here are your keys, dear. Apartment number 216. Stairs to your left, elevators to your right. If you need anything, just pop back down here or give us a call.”

“Thank you.”

Draco stepped off the staircase and onto the second floor landing and followed the numbers until he reached 216. He unlocked the door and stepped inside.

The apartment was sparse and clean. The small kitchen was to the left, and the living room in front of him had a couch, a fireplace, and a coffee table. There was a lamp near the back window that looked out over London. He could just see what he thought was Big Ben in the distance.

The one bedroom was furnished with a bed, a nightstand, a dresser and an armoire, all of simple design. The attached bathroom was bright. Draco set his bag on the mattress and started pulling out the few Muggle clothes he owned and folding them neatly into the dresser. He hung his cloak in the armoire and tucked his wand into the drawer of the nightstand.

Draco stepped out into the living room again and pulled out his wallet. After paying this month’s rent, he had about £350 left.

If he was truly going to live like a Muggle, he ought to get a job. Maybe he’d start classes at a university. Maybe he’d get a quiet life.

 

“Rinse off these parsnips, would you, Ron?”

Ron shook his wet hair like a dog, slammed the door shut, and inattentively tracked mud all over the floor. “What, no ‘Hello, Ron, how was your day?’ Well, it was a right mess –“

“Oh, Ron, if your day was so horrible then there’s no point dwelling on it –“  

 _“Scourgify,_ ” Harry muttered under his breath, and mused that even after nearly a year, nothing’s changed.

“Only married a few months and already bickering?” he said out loud.

“Been bickering since the day we met, mate. It’s part of our romantic charm,” Ron quipped good-naturedly.

Hermione fondly rolled her eyes and handed the bunch of parsnips to Ron, who dutifully started rinsing them off at the sink. “Thanks for cleaning off the floor, Harry.”

“No problem.”

In a matter of minutes, the cauldron was merrily boiling away, cooking tonight’s dinner for them – stew, like Hermione’s dad used to make it, but with a touch of magic, Ron’s family’s influence. Harry made them all tea and they sit around the table.

“When’d you pop over, Harry?”

“Around 5. I was at Gringotts all day trying to sort out a bloke’s estates with Ragnok when Pig flew into the window and startled Bill so badly that he spilled tea all over the forms.”

“Oh, sorry! I knew I should’ve just Flooed the secretary, but Pig seemed so restless.”

“Wait, is this the same bloke from last Thursday?”

“Yeah, apparently he claims that the Ministry’s seized half of his holdings during the course of the war and Ragnok’s getting really impatient trying to find proof.”

“Idiots all around, I see. Caught a couple of Mundungus Fletchers today. Would’ve gone smoothly if Dawlish hadn’t sneezed. They want you in the office tomorrow at 8 to sort out the logistics, Hermione.”

The cauldron whistled, and Hermione jumped up to tend to it.

“I was thinking of visiting Kreacher on Sunday.”

“Good idea, we haven’t been ‘round for a bit. He still mouthing off to the nurses?”

“Last week he threw a fit when Healer Mortin gave me a glass of water. He said, “Only I need to serve Master Harry!” We were both trying not to laugh.”

“He’s going to wear himself out!” Hermione chided, rejoining them. “But that’s a good idea; Ron and I ought to come by. Ginny would love to see him as well.”

“Is Ginny in town this weekend?”

“I think the Cannons are playing this weekend.”

“Definitely not! I’d know if the Cannons were playing, and then we couldn’t see Kreacher!”

“Ron! Of course we’d see Kreacher this weekend; how can you be so selfish –“

“The Cannons are finally staying aloft this season! Plus, Kreacher still won’t look you in the eye –“

“Yes, but at least he calls me ‘Miss’ now instead of ‘Mudblood’ –“

“I think Ginny should be in town,” Harry said loudly. Ron and Hermione look appropriately mollified. “Only the Gorodok Gargoyles are playing this weekend, and Portugal isn’t on Ginny’s roster.” He re-folded the _Daily Prophet_ he’d snagged from the counter and replaced it.

“I wonder if she’ll bring that boy around this time. Rudy, was it?”

“Randy,” Ron muttered darkly.

“He seems like a perfectly decent fellow, Ron –“

“How about you, Harry?” Ron asked hastily. “Met anyone interesting lately?”

“Not particularly. I’ve been holed up with Bill these past weeks, and his crowd’s not particularly attractive to me.”

Ron sniggered. “Or particularly human.”

Hermione sighed exasperatedly. “Fiona seemed nice that one time.”

“Fiona’s ear was on upside-down!”

“It wasn’t like she could help it!”

“I shouldn’t pursue relationships with Gringotts clients, Hermione. Even if her ear has been righted, mind.”

 

Hackney Community College.

Draco stared at the foreign façade, clutching the strap of his messenger bag. He sighed, checked to make sure his wand hadn’t slipped down his shirt (not that he’d need it) and walked into the administration building.

A man greeted him at the front desk. “How may I help you?”

“I’d like to apply for classes.”

“Bit late, aren’t you? Classes start next week. You may have to wait for the fall semester.”

“I’m sure these papers will put everything in order.”

Draco pulled the pre-charmed sheets of paper out of his messenger bag. He watched the man intently scan the blank pages, then straighten them out and place them on the desk.

“That looks about right. What major are you planning to pursue, Malfoy?”

“Carpentry,” Draco answered.

“Seems fine…Here, fill in your personal information and sign at the bottom. You’ll want to register for classes right away. You can meet with a counselor in the office across there.”

 _Vincent Malfoy_ , Draco thought as he signed the sheets of paper.

 

Draco sighed.

He slipped off his shoes and closed the door, dropping his bag on the kitchen counter. He also deposited the bag of groceries in his other hand onto the floor and threw the key for his bike lock in the first drawer. He shrugged off his coat, turned into the bedroom to stow it away, then came back into the kitchen and reached for the library books inside his bag.

_Simple Meals for the Novice Cook, 5 Ingredient Dinners, Quick and Tasty To Go._

He pulled out the box of instant rice he’d bought at the supermarket and heaved a pot onto the stove. He thought about his wand, still tucked into his bag, but dismissed it. He opened up _5 Ingredient Dinners_ and flipped to a hopefully promising page. The package of mixed greens and precooked chicken were soon added to the pot. He pushed his bangs out of his eyes so that they stuck up on his head.

After a few moments he left the pot and turned toward the phone attached to the wall. He supposed he ought to figure out how to plug it in, in case the people from Tea and Things called him back about his job interview. He hoped he’d done everything right. He had pre-charmed a few sheets of paper to act as his résumé, but he’d filled out all the paperwork by hand, just like he filled out all the paperwork at the university by hand. He had no idea what a National Insurance number was supposed to be, and he had no previous places of work to list. He wasn’t even sure if he’d properly set up his account at the bank, even though it was relatively similar to opening a vault at Gringotts.

Presently the food is ready. Draco brings his dinner to the living room and reached for his bag on the floor. He deposited it on the couch beside him and pulled out the folders and folders of forms he’d filled out today. He also pulled out _Moving to London for the Foreigner_ and started reading,

 

Tea and Things had left a message. He hadn’t gotten the job. 

Draco wasn’t really sure why he was crying. Granted, he wasn’t bawling his eyes out, but for some reason he couldn’t stop the tears flowing down his face and he struggled to breathe regularly. He swiped at his eyes, aggravated, and grabbed _The Times_ as he headed out the door. He’d seen an ad for the ticket office at the Underground in there and reckoned he’d try for that. He hurriedly unlocked his bike on the front square and turned toward London.

 

“Draco Malfoy?”

He started badly, and even though he had gotten pretty good at biking from traveling to the university, then to his job at the Underground, every day, he still had to quickly catch himself.

He hadn’t heard his given name in a long time, and he turned, feeling his wand pressing against him under his shirt.

Standing on the street corner he had just turned was Harry Potter, holding an armful of plants and a pair of rusty greaves.

“Hello,” Draco said warily.

“What are you doing here? In Muggle London?” Harry shifted the greaves, and they clanked forlornly against each other.

Draco considered how much he wanted to tell him. “Buying groceries.”

Draco watched Harry’s face begin to form another question, and quickly added, “I live in Muggle London.”

He wasn’t sure if he had wanted to tell Harry that piece of information, but it was too late now.

“You’re not in Worm-of-Whittle, are you?”

“Battersea.” Worm-of-Whittle was a relatively large Wizarding neighborhood near downtown. Draco reckoned that’s where Harry lived.

“What are you doing there? That shouldn’t be a Wizarding neighborhood...”

“Like I said, I live there,” Draco answered a little forcefully. “I’m living in Muggle London because I don’t really know why I hated Muggles all these years and I fancy finding out.”

That was definitely more than Draco had wanted to say. He turned as calmly as he could back to his bike.

“See you around.”

“See you,” he heard Harry say faintly as he biked away.

 

Draco unlocked his apartment. He threw his groceries down on the kitchen floor. He’d unpack them later.

Why of all people did he have to run into Harry Potter? Granted, that was about the most polite conversation he’d ever had with the man, but if he was going to randomly run into a Wizard while traversing the streets of Muggle London, he’d preferred if it was some low-life who couldn’t even recognize him.

He sank onto the couch. The encounter had left him shaken and jittery. It’d been months since he’d had any contact with the Wizarding World. He remembered his meeting with Mjorluk on his last day, and the night before that, conversing with his mother about putting in new drapes in the North Wing sitting room, trivial things. Of course he hadn’t completely left it all behind, but his wand had become less of an implement and more like a talisman, passively resting against his chest in case some freak danger were to arise, and occasionally being helpful when his Wizarding upbringing became an impediment in the Muggle world.

He wondered what his parents thought of him now.

He held his wand, twirling it between his fingers and observing its worn carvings. Ten inches, hawthorn, unicorn hair. It had been won from him by Harry Potter, but after the War Harry had allowed Draco to win it back, and Draco was glad to be rid of using his parents’ wands. He felt strange holding it, knowing that he could do any number of impossible things but not having done so in such a long time.

“ _Aguamenti_ ,” he said, pointing to his half-filled glass. Presently water flowed from his wand and he stopped once the glass was full.

He hadn’t seen his own magic in a long time. It was fine to charm sheets of paper and Confund the occasional stubborn Muggle, but to see water appear from his wand tip, water he was sipping now, was more unsettling then it ought to have been.

“I can still be a wizard without having to act like one all the time,” he said aloud to the empty room.

_I can still be a wizard without having to prove my superiority to Muggles all the time._

Talking to Harry Potter was the first legitimate interaction Draco had had with someone else in a long time.

Draco set his glass down. Perhaps he ought to get a dog.

 

Harry enjoyed spending lunchtime with Ron.

It was a Wednesday, just before noon, and Harry was perched on his usual chair at the kitchen table, kneading some dough. Ron was methodically peeling carrots over the sink and depositing them in a large bowl.

“She said she’d probably have to miss dinner Friday night; the cackling dustpans are taking up all her time.”

“Shouldn’t that be in your father’s department?”

“Well, Hermione’s dealing with the lot that enchanted them; Dad’s working on the Muggle cleanup.”

“The Obliviators must be all over his back.”

“No kidding. Mum says he ought to retire soon, but you know Dad. If he’s not working in the office, what’ll be his excuse when he brings home enchanted toilet brushes?”

Harry laughed and set the dough aside to rise one last time. “At least we’ll be seeing Neville this Friday. I feel like it’s been ages since we last met up.”

“Yeah, him and Ginny both.”

“Luna says she’s bringing pickled rabbit ears.”

“You’d better make double your casserole, then.”

Ron finished dicing up the carrots and added them to the vegetable soup simmering away over the fire. Harry checked on the dough, decided he was too hungry to wait (one reason Hermione teased them about never joining their lunch get-togethers – the food was consistently undercooked) and placed them on a pan in the oven.

Ron finally sat down next to Harry. They listened to the soup bubbling away in companionable silence.

Harry glanced at their graduation picture, hung next to the Weasley clock on the kitchen wall. Next to that was a picture of Ron and Hermione, newly married.

“I ran into Draco Malfoy yesterday.”

“Draco Malfoy?” Ron started, a bit warily.

“In Muggle London.”

Ron paused, following Harry’s line of vision to the group of photos on the wall. They stayed silent for a few moments.

“What was he doing in Muggle London?”

“He lives there,” Harry answered.

Ron didn’t seem to be paying attention to Harry anymore. He continued to study Hermione’s parents gushing over their daughter, robed in Gryffindor red and clutching a sparkling diploma. 

Presently the oven beeped, and Harry stood up to take out the bread. He heard Ron checking on the soup and turning off the stove.

“We ought to clear off the table,” Ron said, and Harry quickly wet a rag to wipe off the excess flour.

They worked without speaking, and then while they ate they discussed the merits of inviting Kreacher to Friday dinner, and whether he’d be able to just sit and not scurry around trying to serve everybody on his broken leg.

 

Marquis Dure was a terrier mix. His coat was mottled gray and he had whiskers. He didn’t seem to mind the fact that Draco kept a tight and shaky grip on his leash all the way back to the apartment. As soon as Draco let go, he was sniffing everything in sight, sticking his nose near the outlets in the bedroom and poking his head under the bed.

The lady at the rescue shelter told him that dogs can usually learn a new name relatively easily, but Draco didn’t feel like he had the right.

His earnings at the Underground weren’t extraordinary, but eating in on most days and commuting everywhere on his bike meant that Draco was comfortable with the bags of dog food he stows in the pantry and the impending veterinary appointment. Marquis Dure finished exploring and returned to Draco, as if to ask, _What are we doing next?_

Marquis Dure was a good dog. He let Draco do the talking, sitting quietly while Draco questioned him about his Wall and Floor Tiling homework or his American Philosophy essays. He only sometimes teased Draco on their walks together, and was a polite bedfellow. Draco was too shy to say so, but he appreciated all of this.

It had been nearly two months since Draco started out on this journey, and even though it was past midnight and Draco had to be up at six tomorrow, he was still awake, conversing quietly with Marquis Dure while they shared Draco’s bed. He didn’t realize he was crying until Primce Babsy tried to move in to lick his face.

“I know you’re just a silly Muggle dog,” said Draco, “and you don’t really understand what I’m saying, but thank you. I’m really glad we got to know each other.”

He felt stupid, pouring out his deepest emotions to a dog, but Draco wasn’t shy anymore.

 

Harry, Hermione, and Ron didn’t discuss Draco again. Harry knew Ron told Hermione, as he expected him to, but she wisely never brought it up. What was there to say? Draco has been acting in a baffling manner ever since Harry pardoned Lucius and returned his wand. The confusion Harry felt about him couldn’t possibly hold a candle to the confusion Draco himself must be feeling.

 

Marquis Dure was a success.

Marquis Dure was a success in many ways. First, he was a success because Draco had managed to keep him. Draco didn’t have to return him to the shelter because he couldn’t afford him, or because he got cold feet. Secondly, he was a success because Draco wasn’t completely alone anymore. Draco had at least one friend. Maybe that one friend was a dog, but Draco reckoned he counted all the same. Third, he was a success because Astoria actually seemed interested in him.

Draco barely spoke to anyone at the university, but he had American Philosophy with Astoria Greengrass, and he was impressed by her well thought-out answers in class and her calm but firm demeanor. There was something in her eyes; he remembered reading the eyes of Death Eaters at meetings, when faces were largely obscured by masks, and knew what they said. He couldn’t quite read hers, however; she wasn’t blinded by devotion or terrified but afraid to show it. She was simply comfortable. There was a quiet force there, something Draco wished he had. Draco wanted to feel like he had a force that grounded him to something. Right now he was floating in the Muggle world.

He didn’t usually say much; he occasionally answered questions in class and said hello to the people he regularly passed in the halls, but he figured this whole experience was about feeling inadequate anyway, so he bravely decided to partner with her for discussion. They talked about William James and Robert Louis Stevenson and the lanterns hidden under top-coats, and Draco brought up Marquis Dure, who was a lantern in his own right. Draco was pleased to find that Astoria was impressed with Marquis Dure, who was a creature absolutely worthy of respect.

Astoria was worthy of respect too, Draco thought. She was confident, but not extravagantly so. She had a force that grounded her.

They agreed to grab lunch together at the nearby café; Draco was momentarily terrified that in his nervousness he would forget some Muggle procedure for ordering shepherd’s pie and tea, but he managed it without making any awkward mistakes. They sat outside even though the air was crisp. Astoria’s dark brown hair moved lightly in the wind.

They talked about what they had in common, mostly, which was university. Draco learned that she was studying business, she enjoyed feeding the ducks in the park, she went out with her girlfriends every Sunday. She learned that Draco worked at the Undergound, his favorite subject was Trigonometry, he couldn’t stand people that arrived late for class.

She called him Vincent, but he felt like she was the first person that truly knew him at all, and he was surprised that he wanted that.

He’d be pleased to consider her his friend.

They only had the one class together, but more often than not they met for lunch, whether it was at the café or the university dining hall, or picnicking on the grounds on a sunny day. At first, Draco was worried that he wouldn’t have anything to tell her about himself, since he couldn’t speak about Wizarding life, but he found that Astoria cared more about his opinions and his passions than his past. The more he talked to her, the more he felt brave, and perhaps, the closer they became. He felt so, so grateful that he could talk to her. He saw something in her that he’d like to be someday.

Everything was fine. Draco’s life had fallen into an easy routine, and he and Astoria were amiable companions. Draco was surprised, then, when one evening found him staring at his reflection in his tiny apartment bathroom, his mind involuntarily pulled to a memory from years ago, when he was standing in front of a cracked and grimy mirror at Hogwarts, much like he was doing now. He was sixteen then, and the one thing overpowering his life was the responsibility of killing Dumbledore. He had been engulfed in terror.

Everything was fine, but nothing made sense now.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He wasn’t sure what he’s apologizing for, or who he was apologizing to. He couldn’t even pinpoint what triggered the memory.

“I’m sorry,” he said, valiantly earnest eyes gazing back at him. “I’m sorry.”

 

One thing did terrify him. It was an altogether unfamiliar kind of terror, Draco mused, but it unsettled him all the same. He thought he might like Astoria.

Strange! Draco hadn’t ever really liked anybody before. He regarded his parents with partiality, and his friends from his school days were not entirely horrible, but he never really cared strongly about any of them.

Not even Vincent, whose name he’d adopted to replace his arcane one for the Muggle world.

But what _was_ liking Astoria? What did liking Astoria even mean? How could he possibly like her, when she barely knew anything about him? When he barely knew anything about himself? Liking someone felt like a Muggle thing; Draco knew other people did it, occasionally, but it was never something he ever thought about bothering with before. He didn’t understand it.

He felt exceedingly foolish for feeling this way, but he just wanted to talk about this _liking_ thing with somebody. Marquis Dure might have worked, but Draco was hoping for a little more input than that.

He was crazy. He must have been going crazy. Maybe impulsively abandoning the Wizarding World and dropping himself straight into Muggle London was not healthy for his psyche. Maybe he shouldn’t have run away from his problems. Maybe he shouldn’t have faced his problems head on.

He felt like a lunatic, pulling out ink, quill, and parchment, leaning against the counter and scribbling a note to Harry Potter. _He’ll probably think I’ve gone mad and ignore it,_ Draco thought severely, but he nevertheless folded the scrap into a paper airplane and enchanted it. He walked over to the window and watched as the airplane soared discreetly over London.

_Dear Harry Potter,_

_This may come as a surprise, but would you mind meeting for tea tomorrow? 3 o’clock at Bernie’s Brewery would be suitable._

_Sincerely,_

_Draco Malfoy._

He was done for. Never mind anything at all.

 

Harry didn’t tell anyone that he got a letter from Draco, and he didn’t tell anyone that he was going to meet him. He just went.

 

Draco sat at Bernie’s Brewery, feeling acutely exposed and wondering if he should just give into Slytherin cowardice and leave before three. He planted his feet, though, and decided to be adamant about something he was doing for once. It was just Harry bloody Potter. He’d taken him before.

Harry showed up at three. They shook hands, and it wasn’t completely awkward. As Harry sat down, a waitress came by and they ordered their tea. Draco stared ruthlessly at the tablecloth.

Harry cleared his throat nervously. Draco stopped antagonizing the tablecloth, and spoke.

“I was wondering…I know you work closely with the Ministry, and I thought you might know a little about…Muggle relations – I’m curious about the procedure of introducing a Muggle to the Wizarding World.”

“Mm…Well, I know that when Muggle-born witches and wizards are ready to begin magical training, someone from the Ministry usually comes to their house and explains everything to the family. Also, each new Muggle Prime Minister is introduced to the Wizarding World by the Minister of Magic.”

Their tea arrived. Harry regarded Draco keenly.

“If a witch or wizard intends to marry a Muggle, there are procedures for that as well. Adoptions of Muggle children, although rare, also go through the Ministry.”

Draco had never considered the possibility of Wizarding families wanting to adopt Muggle children. “How would a Wizard-Muggle marriage work?”

If Draco was thankful for anything in his life, it was the fact that Harry seemed to have developed prudence, because Draco was acting very strangely and he knew Harry knew. Harry knew he knew Harry knew.

“You’d go over to the Muggle Relations Office and fill out a stack of forms. Then you’d be interviewed by a slew of Ministry officials, and your fiancé would be too. I’m pretty sure a bunch of Magical ceremonies would take place before you could get properly married. Just a lot of logistics.”

“When do you…actually _tell_ your…significant other if you’re a wizard?”

“Not until nearly the last moment, I think. I’m pretty sure the Ministry has ways of documenting your significant other without their being aware that a Ministry of Magic is doing it at all.”

 _What do you think of the state of Wizard-Muggle relations currently?_ Draco wanted to ask, but he desisted. He could tell that Harry wanted to know why he’d gotten so curious all of a sudden, but he didn’t indulge him. Draco sipped his tea. Harry didn’t touch his, but Draco wasn’t surprised.

“How would you go about telling them?” _How do you even_ have _a relationship with a Muggle? What am I doing?_

“I think…I think I would tell them everything I possibly could about myself before that moment comes. I wouldn’t want to lie to them…I’d be as truthful as possible, and at the very end, whether or not I’m a wizard shouldn’t matter. If the relationship is real, then being a wizard and having to keep that secret would just be one little detail.”

Being a wizard was just one little detail that had only toyed with Draco all his life.

Draco finished his tea and watched Harry let his go cold. They stood, murmered a quiet farewell, and departed.

Draco was brave in talking to Harry. He could keep being brave in liking Astoria.

 

“I _was_ a bit of a jerk in secondary school.”

“Vince, I can’t believe that.”

The day was warm and pleasant, the first warm and pleasant one they’d had this year, but Draco was almost completely sure he was going to ruin it for Astoria with what he was about to say. But he had to do it.

“No, I was. I was a proper bully.”

“Well obviously you didn’t really mean it.”

“Maybe. Maybe I didn’t really mean it. I sure felt like I meant it, though.”

Draco gazed across the courtyard, the images of students blurring in the warm haze. He sensed Astoria turning her body toward him on the bench.

“Why did you do it, then?”

Draco’s gaze sharpened; he turned to face Astoria. “I don’t think I knew to do anything else. Any other option never crossed my mind.”

Astoria remained silent; Draco noticed that her eyes didn’t look comfortable anymore. He forged on.

“Maybe, at first, I was young and foolish. I got older, though, and no less foolish. I got older, and I couldn’t stop what I’d started.”

“What had you started?” she asks evenly.

“…I can’t say…I’ll say that I’m lucky, though. With what I’d done I’m lucky not to be locked up-…”

Now Draco saw fear in her eyes. He didn’t think he’d be able to assuage it.

“At first it was just antagonizing classmates. Then I was just worse and worse…I joined – a gang, I suppose. A radical gang of criminals. I thought I knew I was doing – well of course I didn’t; I didn’t know anything, really. And I just kept going.”

He looked straight into her eyes. He was brave.

“I think I really realized something was wrong when…my friends and I were sent on a mission, and…everything went to hell – I was running for my life, and when the smoke cleared, _literally,_ my friend was dead.”

Astoria was brave too. She didn’t break eye contact and she didn’t cry. Draco couldn’t read her eyes.

“I was shocked, and so I was sad. But when the shock wore off…I realized I didn’t even really know him. I didn’t even really miss him. I felt like something was wrong with me. I…I wouldn’t have missed anyone if they died. That’s not…that’s not good.”

Draco thought he might be developing prudence, too. He’d been brave enough for now. He broke eye contact and stared out at the grounds, his vision unclear again.

“That’s not even the worst part, though…The worst part came nearly a year earlier, and I didn’t realize it at the time. I think that was the scariest. I was such a coward that I could barely face even my own actions.”

He’d done all he could. Good.

“I know I’ve put you in a difficult position, but I had to do it,” he said to her.

“I know,” she replied, unwavering, and he was sure about what he was going to say next. He focused his vision one last time and made an effort to calm himself.

“There’s one more thing I have to say, then, and this might be the absolute worst time to do it, or there may not be a better time. Astoria, I’m certain I’ve developed feelings for you.”

 _Help me!_ he wanted to scream to the universe. It would be fine, he thought, if she rejected him; he’d just told her about all the horrible things he was involved in, she would be mad to reciprocate his feelings, even if he hadn’t told her about his past. He could absolutely accept that-

“Vincent, I don’t know how I feel, exactly. But I know for sure that I don’t dislike you.”

He found he’d been staring at her too intently. He blink and shook his head, and maybe he felt light, but he never broke eye contact. “Vincent was my friend’s name. The one who died. I took it…”

She looked at him wonderingly, calmly.

“What’s your name, then?”

“Draco. Draco Malfoy.”

 

_Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus, quia potest excitare._

Draco had one son, named Lucius Virtus Malfoy.

Lucius meant light in Latin. Draco’s son was a light.

Virtus meant a few different things in Latin. Most obviously,it meant virtue, but it could also mean power, or force. Lucius was Draco’s force that grounded him, the same force that Astoria held in her gaze and in her being.

Draco was grateful that Astoria had let him name their son.

It had been nineteen years since he’d left the Wizarding World, but it had been seventeen since he’d returned. Maybe leaving had been a rash decision; he’d completely erased his existence, and it wasn’t an easy task to re-manifest. Harry Potter helped, again. Draco thought he ought to have felt bitter that so much of his life was indebted to Potter, but he was too grateful. He really was incredibly lucky. He didn’t regret leaving, and he got to come back.

And he had a wife, and a son.

King’s Cross was just as disorganized and crowded as he remembered, and Platform 9¾ was no different. Lucius talked to his mother about anything at all, pushing the clanking trolley along, but Draco could tell he was excited. Draco was too.

 

Harry ran after Hugo. “Your dad said wait-!”

“I know how to get onto the platform; I went with Rose last time!”

“That’s not the point—ha! Gotcha!”

“Uncle Haa-rryyy…!”

Harry turned, keeping a firm grip on Hugo, toward Hermione, who hurried toward them with an overflowing trolley, Rose following close behind.

“Hugo! Don’t make trouble for Uncle Harry!”

“Sorry, Mum.”

They assembled in front of the barrier. Hermione bustled about, straightening collars and buttoning coats. She turned to Harry, sighed fondly, and brushed some dirt off his shoulder.

“You and Ron both…”

Presently Ron joined them, pushing another trolley, from which a voice yowled within its depths.

“Bloody Kneazle. Oh well, he’ll be McGonagall’s problem now.”

“Dad, don’t talk about Wilmur that way!”

Harry grinned down at Hugo. “Named your new Kneazle Wilmur?”

“Yes,” Hugo answered assertively.

“Does WIlmur know his name?”

“He will!” Hugo protested. “He will eventually!”

“All right, everyone onto the platform!” Hermione fussed, and Harry gathered himself. He took Hugo by one hand (despite his protests that he was grown-up now and didn’t need his hand held) and Rose by the other and marched straight toward the wall between Platforms 9 and 10. They passed through without a problem, and Harry heard the trolleys that Ron and Hermione were pushing clattering behind them.

“Let’s find Aunt Ginny, then,” Rose said, and they wandered deeper into the crowd, the red Hogwarts Express gleaming and huffing smoke behind them.

Harry strained his eyes; he saw a few familiar faces, but couldn’t stop because Rose and Hugo were pulling insistently at his hands. Suddenly Ron yelled behind them, “Ginny!”

Harry spotted a hand rising above the crowd and waving at them; in a few moments the group was conversing with Ginny’s family. Her children weren’t quite old enough to be attending Hogwarts yet, but both she and her husband had siblings with Hogwarts-aged children.

The two families caught up for a little bit, and when Harry briefly lost track of the conversation, he saw a shock of white-blond hair bobbing through the crowd. It was Draco Malfoy, Harry realized, and as they came closer Harry saw Draco’s wife and son as well. For a moment, Harry was afraid Draco was approaching him; what would he say? But the family didn’t notice him, and continued past.

“Hey – that’s Draco Malfoy!” Ron muttered to Harry. “That’s his son, then?”

“Whose son?” Hugo asked. He turned from talking with Ginny and Rose.

“Oh, just some chap who went to school with us,” Harry said, looking at Ron.

A whistle blew. Hermione heaved their trolley around and started for the train. “It’s time, then!”

Harry could tell she was as excited as her children. He was, too.

They managed to get everything off the trolleys and onto the train. Rose and Hugo stuck their heads out of a window and waved furiously; the adults waved back just as furiously.

“Write us, alright?” Ginny called.

“Yeah, don’t forget us old coots!” Ron added.

Harry just saw Rose and Hugo giggling, and then the billowing smoke succeeded in hiding the train. He kept looking into the distance, though.

 

So did Draco.

After a few moments, he noticed Harry trying to catch his eye. He waved; Harry nodded.

“Astoria, Harry Potter’s here.”

“Hmm? Oh, Lucius left his scarf with me! I suppose I’ll have to post it to him; he did pack his extra, didn’t he?”

Draco turned toward her, away from Harry. “I’m sure he did, Astoria. He’ll be fine.”

 

“…wouldn’t work anyway because it’s pronounced ‘ _alo-ho-MOR-a’,_ not ‘ _ALO-homora’_.”

“I _know_ how it’s pronounced, Rose!”

Harry’s hand shook and he nearly sliced a finger off, but he managed to hold his laughter in. Ron and Hermione would appreciate the shepherd’s pie being devoid of body parts.

“Then why didn’t you say it correctly the first time?”

“Ugh, you’re missing the point! If we could only find the door to the kitchens-”

“It’s a pear,” Harry interrupted Hugo.

“What?”

“The door to the kitchens is a pear,” Harry said. He grinned at Hugo’s nonplussed and Rose’s long-suffering expressions. “Don’t kick the table leg, Hugo.”

Hugo’s feet stopped swinging. “So I have to go through a _pear_ to get to the kitchens?”

“More or less,” Harry said vaguely.

“How do I do that?”

“That’s the only clue I’m giving you,” Harry said. “Your mum would already be annoyed at what I’ve told you.”

“Oh well,” said Hugo. “Lucius and I will figure out how to get in.”

“Well if you do, Hugo, don’t expect me to come running to save you when you get into trouble!” Rose mock-scolded. “What are you smiling at, Uncle Harry?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing.” Harry tried to swallow his grin.

The butter dish started to chirp.

“That’ll be the laundry,” said Rose. She slipped from her chair and scampered off.

“I wonder what Lucius is doing over hols,” Hugo mused.

“Why don’t you owl him?” Harry suggested.

“I could…Pig intimidates him, though.”

Harry snorted. “Pig? You’re talking about our Pigwidgeon, right? He fits into a sock; how can Lucius be intimidated by him?”

“I think Pig likes him too much; the last time I sent Lucius a letter he wrote back that Pig sat on his head all through lunch.”

“Poor bloke,” Harry said.

“Wait a minute…Lucius got off the train at King’s Cross, too! He must live nearby!”

“He lives in Battersea,” Harry replied.

“Batttersea? Where’s that?”

“It’s in London.”

“London! That’s not far from here! Can’t we visit, Uncle Harry?”

“It wouldn’t be very polite of us to invite ourselves to their house,” Harry said, amused.

“Then we can have them over here!” Hugo jumped off the chair. “I’m going to ask Mum and Dad!”

“Ask Mum and Dad what?”

At that moment, the door swung open. Hermione walked in, holding one end of a low wooden bench; Ron held onto the other end.

“Lucius lives in London! That’s not far from here! Oh, please can he come over? Please, Mum? I’ve been good all holidays.”

“You _have_ been good all holidays,” Hermione mused. She and Ron deposited the bench in the front hall with a _thunk!_

Ron grunted. “Lucius who? Lucius Malfoy?”

Hugo scoffed. “Yes _of course_ Lucius Malfoy! How many other Luciuses are there? It’s an odd name.”

“Not that odd,” Ron groused.

“You know his family quite well, don’t you, Harry?” Hermione said, pushing the corner of the bench so that it would line up with the wall. “You did a lot with them at the Ministry. Any concerns?”

“Well…no.”

“What do you mean, “well, no”?” Ron muttered. He shrugged off his jacket and promptly dropped it onto the new bench. “Harry…”

“I personally think Lucius visiting would be fine,” Harry said firmly.

Hugo stood, glancing apprehensively from one adult to another.

“Maybe _we’d_ be fine with it,” muttered Ron to Hermione, “but would _they_ be fine with it? D’you trust Draco Malfoy to not be a-“

“Ron!”

“a really really annoying person about it? Because Draco can be really really annoying.”

“So can you, Ron,” Hermione said, picking up Ron’s jacket and hanging it on a peg. “And nothing’s gone wrong all those times he met with Harry.”

“I bet he’s scared of Harry,” Ron said.

“Well, he can continue being scared of Harry, as long as he’s civil.”

“So does that mean they can come?” Hugo asked.

Hermione considered. “…We can have them over for tea on Wednesday,”

“Wednesday’s good!” Hugo said eagerly. “We’re not planning anything on Wednesday!”

“How about it, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“That’s fine with me,” Harry said. “Ron?” 

“Yes.” Ron was visibly attempting to look agreeable. “That works.”

“Yes!” Hugo crowed. “Wait until I tell Rose!”

Hugo dashed off; they watched his retreating back. “She won’t be as excited,” Harry mused.

“I can relate,” Ron muttered darky.

“Ron, it’s fine!” Hermione snapped, exasperated.

“I know! I know it’s fine. It is fine. It’s fine.” Ron said. “It’s fine.”

 

The Malfoys Apparated at the Weasleys’ gate at 3 o’clock sharp, scarves snapping in the wind. Lucius let go of his mother’s hand and leaned on the gate door, and Hugo quickly ran down the path to unlock it.

“I wanted to bring Calax,” Lucius said as soon as Hugo undid the latch. “But he’s only a Muggle dog so he couldn’t Apparate.”

“ _Can_ you Apparate magical animals?” Hugo asked.

“It’s not advised,” Draco said. “They don’t much appreciate it.”

Hugo led the Malfoys to the house, and Hermione, Harry, and Ron greeted them at the door. Rose and Lucius were immediately swept away by Hugo to the backyard, and Hermione kindly invited everyone to sit in the drawing. Astoria worked as a travel agent in the Muggle world, and she told Ron and Hermione about her job over tea and buttery scones.

“How are things going at EML?” Harry asked Draco as he passed the teakettle.

“Alright,” Draco said. He poured himself a half-glass of tea and topped it off with a substantial amount of milk. “My department’s been working on a modified Blood-Replenishing potion that uses spleen of hare instead of tongue of clabbert.”

“That simplifies matters,” Harry said. “Now there’s no need to import volatile tongues from the States.”

“The only problem is that the potion tends to solidify after seventeen hours,” Drcao said, “and then it loses its effects. We’re still trying to figure that out.”

“Mm,” said Harry. He reached for another scone.

“How’s Gringotts?” Draco asked.

“Ragnok’s been on my case ever since we got the orders to thaw the vaults. It’s been a nightmare. But I’ve coerced Bill Weasley into doing most of the paperwork so I can just focus on the logistics.”

“Bill Weasley?”

“Ron’s oldest brother. He’s a curse-breaker. He’s usually in Egypt but he’s got three months in London.”

“Oh.”

They heard a shout from outside. Draco’s eyes flicked to the windows, but Harry’s back was to them so he couldn’t look. Soon enough, though, Rose’s teasing voice could be heard, and Draco turned back to Harry.

“How many days until the start of term?” Harry asked.

“Eleven, I think,” said Draco.

“Ten,” said Astoria, who had turned from her conversation with Hermione and Ron. “Unless you’re counting today.”

Draco shook his head. “Lucius melted half his cauldron; we need to go to Diagon Alley to replace it.”

“And Hugo needs another inch on his robes,” Hermione said. “I can’t believe he grew so fast! He’ll be taller than you by third-year, Ron.”

“Oh, ha-ha,” said Ron.

“Time really does move quite quickly, doesn’t it?” Astoria said. “It seems like Lucius’s first birthday was just yesterday and now he’s already been at Hogwarts for a term.”

“I feel like it was _my_ first term yesterday,” Hermione said. “But our children always seem to surprise us, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” Draco said. “They do.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I don’t Latin. Therefore, I don’t know if that Latin is perfectly correct. I used Google Translate and cross-checked a couple of times and I think it’s more or less correct. I wanted it to mean, “Never tickle a sleeping dragon, or it might wake up,” or something like that.  
> 2\. I first wrote this in present tense and then I realized that it was gross and so I had to go back and put it in past tense. So, if things sound awkward or something, I’m sorry.  
> 3\. Harry’s not an Auror? He was kind of sick of fighting after Voldemort etc. so now he works under the goblins at Gringotts.  
> 4\. Harry’s not married to Ginny? Yeah. I just…I never really bought into Harry and Ginny falling in love. The kids call Harry “Uncle Harry” because he hangs around with Ron and Hermione so much, even though he technically has his own house, and his own life, and he’s completely self-sufficient…  
> 5\. Astoria is a witch in canon, but I made her a Muggle here.  
> 6\. E. M. L. Potions Co. is a company that showed up on a potion label in the HBP movie. I thought Draco would like working there.  
> 7\. I started writing this in December 2014 (so this is officially my first fanfic!) and I’m not completely satisfied with it, but whatever, I’m posting it. I might go back and edit later.


End file.
